


a family of misfits

by eponinethenardiers



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff, Kid Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-04
Updated: 2014-05-04
Packaged: 2018-01-21 22:27:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1566257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eponinethenardiers/pseuds/eponinethenardiers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>from a tumblr prompt for eponine/feuilly as parents. Short collection of drabbles of Eponine and Feuilly and their daughter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a family of misfits

_i._

It was 2:03 in the morning on Christmas Eve when their lives changed forever.

The little girl came into the world with a fever Feuilly would always claim she got from her mother, strong lungs producing ear-piercing screams that sounded like the gentlest music to the new parents' ears. Cleaned up and swaddled in a soft pink blanket, the child cooed softly in her mother's arms as Éponine clutched her to her chest. 

"She looks like you," Feuilly whispered, one arm wrapped protectively around his wife. She shook her head.

"No. Look at her eyes. She'll be just like you, I know it."

The couple exchanged soft, loving smiles, emotion overpowering the exhaustion seeping through their bones.

Carefully, Feuilly took his daughter from Éponine's arms, placing a soft kiss on his wife's forehead before walking out of the room to the area where their friends had been waiting.

"Mon amis," he announced as ten heads snapped up to look at him. "Meet the latest member of Les Amis."

Barely holding in their excitement, the group huddled towards him, eager to get a look at the child.

"What’s her name?" Combeferre asked, smiling softly down at the pink, wrinkled infant writhing in her father’s arms.

"Nathalie," he whispered, affection dripping off every syllable. "Nathalie Marianne."

_ii._

Éponine woke with a start as she rolled onto the empty, cold space beside her where her husband usually lay. Blinking into consciousness, she patted the abandoned spot while squinting at the light bleeding in from under the door.

"It’s three o’clock in the morning," she muttered to herself as she dragged herself from the bed, stumbling outside of their bedroom into the hall.

She followed the faint whispers of Feuilly’s voice down the hallway, towards their daughter’s bedroom, the pea green door ajar as light poured out of it.

"And  _that_ , Nathalie, was how the Polish government managed to rebuild after Hitler ravished Poland in World—”

"You are  _not_  talking to my baby girl about genocide.”

Feuilly jumped where he sat in the rocking chair by his daughter’s crib, instinctively tightening his grip on Nathalie to make sure he didn’t drop her. 

"I’m teaching her about the resilience of the Polish people!" he whined, staring innocently up at Éponine.

"She can learn it when she’s old enough to not suffer from early-childhood trauma," Éponine sighed, walking forward to gently take the child from her husband and lower her into her crib. “The Polish will still be amazing in the morning.”

Feuilly practically whimpered as the sleeping child was removed from his arms, looking lost without her. 

"We talked about this, Feuilly," Éponine reminded him, bending down to cup the pale skin of his cheek with her hand. “She’s over a year old now, we have to detach ourselves a little.”

"She’s only a year old!"

"And you’re still sneaking into her room at night to talk to her while she’s asleep."

"She was crying!"

"No she wasn’t."

Feuilly sighed with defeat. Years of constantly listening for the cops had made Éponine the lightest sleeper imaginable, while Feuilly’s tolerance to noise from working in a garage all day made him dead to the world the minute his eyes closed. When Nathalie cried, Éponine was down the hall in seconds, while Feuilly had to be pushed off the bed and sprayed with water by his wife in order to realize it was his turn to tend to the screaming child.

Éponine pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead before pulling him from the rocking chair, winding her arm around his waist.

"She’s only down the hall," she reminded him, rubbing small, soothing circles into his hip with the pad of her thumb. She knew she had to get Feuilly to retreat, or else Nathalie’s teenage years would be a nightmare, but seeing the dullness fill his eyes and the sudden heaviness to his movements without his daughter in his arms made her question if having an overly-loving father would really be such a bad thing.

_No, no, you talked about this, you need to start pulling away,_  she reminded herself.

"Come on, mon amour," she sighed, leaning her head against his shoulder as she began to give in to her own exhaustion. "Let’s get you some sleep."

_iii._

The stench of cheese and cured meats attacked Éponine as she stepped through the front door of the apartment, making her cringe.

"What  _is_  that?” she called to the kitchen. “I mean, it’s not bad, but…it’s something.”

"I’m teaching Nathalie how to cook!" came the voice of her husband, punctuated by the giggles of their three-year-old. "Cordon bleu şniţel for dinner.”

"Chords on blue what?"

"Cordon. Bleu. Șniţel,” Feuilly corrected her, coming out to greet her as he wiped his hands on a dishcloth. He pressed a quick kiss to her cheek before leading her to the kitchen.

"Papa’s cooking!" Nathalie exclaimed at the sight of her mother. "I can cook now too!"

"It’s basically Romanian schnitzel," Feuilly explained, pointing to the slabs of cheese and prosciutto beside the rice. "Nathalie’s being my little helper."

He hoisted his daughter up into his arms, letting her sprinkle seasoning as she laughed in delight. Éponine smiled at the inseparable pair.

"Just makes sure she doesn’t get hurt on the oven," she warned. "I’m sure it’ll be lovely."

She assured them this even after she tasted it.

(Feuilly made a second, not-contaminated-by-a-toddler batch for them to eat after Nathalie had gone to bed)

_iv._

"Uncle Combeferre!"

Nathalie squealed her uncle’s name as she flew into his arms, laughing as he hoisted her up into the air. The only grin wider than Nathalie’s was Combeferre’s, who was shamelessly giggling at the little girl squirming in his arms.

It didn’t take long for the rest of their friends to swarm them, with Courfeyrac being the first to greet the girl, followed by Marius kissing her happily on the forehead, Bahorel barreling through the crowds to meet his favourite psuedo-niece, and Joly anxiously eyeing her to make sure Combeferre hadn’t harmed her in his playfulness.

Éponine leaned into Feuilly, smiling at the crowd of men blocking her child from view. “She’s going to have the biggest family in the world.”

She tilted her head to look up at him when he remained silent, examining the small smile on his freckled face.

"What is it?" she asked. Feuilly kept staring at the boys obsessing over his daughter, his smile unwavering.

"It’s just…she’s going to have the biggest family in the world," he explained simply. "I get to give her that."

Éponine pressed a soft kiss to his shoulder, squeezing his hand. 

"She’ll probably also get scarred for life by them," she mumbled into his shirt. He glared down at her.

"I was having a moment, did you have to ruin it?"

"The minute she hits eighteen you just  _know_  Bahorel’s going to start hitting on her.”

"I didn’t ask for your opinion, Éponine.”

"I mean our daughter is being partially raised by  _Courfeyrac_ , just think of what’s going to—”

"I hate you so much."

"I love you too."


End file.
